


I'm On Fire

by fairdeath



Category: Chris Evans - Fandom
Genre: Body Worship, Chris Evans feat. Beard, Cunnilingus, F/M, Fluff, Heavy Petting, PWP, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-25
Updated: 2015-04-25
Packaged: 2018-03-25 15:10:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3815062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairdeath/pseuds/fairdeath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s a hand in your hair and a mouth on yours and you don’t know how you got here - just that you want more, more, more. Chris is a fucking animal and yet his touch is soft and adoring.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm On Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Named after the AWOLNATION song because I've done nothing but listen to the 50sog soundtrack while writing this

There’s a hand in your hair and a mouth on yours and you don’t know how you got here - just that you want more, more, more. Chris is a fucking  _animal_ and yet his touch is soft and adoring. His left hand is woven into locks of your hair and lips pressing against yours, tongue licking up into your mouth before disappearing behind his own once more.

You don’t know how you made it up to his room with your clothes on, but apparently Chris wants to change that as he pushes you against the back of the door. His right hand fumbles and pets all the skin he can get to with your clothes on, but it surely makes it way towards the zip at the back of your dress and tugs down, a burning line left down your back from his warm, safe hands. His hand slots itself between the fabric and your back, pulling you closer. A squeak comes from your mouth unintentionally and he’s absolutely grinning at you, eyes heavy lidded and full of want, want, _want._ Surging forward, your lips hit his against. You hear his heavy breathing and the smacking of your lips but you really want to hear him moan for you. 

Small hands work their way to the front of his suit pants. Cupping where the fabric strains, Chris’s voice suddenly hitches. Rolling your wrist, his mouth falls slack against yours. You watch his face, drinking in the beauty of him – eyes heavy, cheeks flushed with arousal, jaw slack from the pleasure you’re giving him. As your mouth works its way down his throat, kissing, nipping, sucking he regains his consciousness somewhat from his pleasure and grips your wrist to stop you.

“None of that yet,” he growls. His voice is husky and laden with want, and your loins clench at the sounds of it, feeling it where your chest is pressed to his. Raising his hands to hold your face in his hands, his lips brush yours; softer this time. Brushing his knuckles across your jaw, his eyes crinkle at the edges and his lips curl into a smile you feel more than see.

“So beautiful,” he breathes against your skin. You wish your heart would slow down – this iorgasn’t going to be fun for much longer if you go into cardiac arrest just from the Adonis in front of you telling you you’re beautiful. As your arms wrap around his neck, reddened from nips, sucked skin, and the flush he’s had since he’d met you, you bring your lips back against his, flattening your body against his, hips moving in slow, pressed circles.

“I swear to God, if you don’t get inside of me soon I’ll leave you and deal with how _goddamn aroused_ I am by myself,” you hear yourself growl as your hands work their way into his short hair. This surely can’t be you – you’ve never been this forward with your previous partners. You’ve never wanted any of them as bad as you want Chris, though. That’s probably why his short laughter makes your heart beat harder against your chest and your hips closer to his.

His strong, warm hands drag their way across your back in a horizontal line. Slowly, he brings them down to your cheeks, lifts a hand and slaps it back, gripping it in his hand, thrusting you against him closer, melding the line where his suit ends and your dress begins. He kneads your cheeks as he kisses you, slow and deliberate, taking your bottom lip between his and tugging softly at it. 

Your hands leave his hair, tracing the curve of his shoulders before your look up to him, gaze into his baby blue’s and bring your hands to the straps of your dress. You feel his hands still against your backside as you softly push the edges of your dress away from your shoulders and watch his eyes darken at the sight of your bare breasts. Feeling the dress settle on your hips and catch on his hands, still firm on your backside, you bite your lip. 

Slowly, but without hesitation, you grasp one of his wrist between your fingers and bring it to your front, placing his hand over your breast, feeling your nipple grow harder under the weight of his hand. His gaze settles on your eyes, unmoving, a plea for permission. You squeeze his wrist, quietly nodding, and that’s all it takes for him to drag the hand still cupping your rear across the small of your back, fingers leaving a trail of fire and desire in their wake before he pulls you close, angling your chest up. He kisses your jaw, your jugular, collarbone, above your heart, all while his fingers take your nipple between then, rolling it, tugging it, flicking it. You feel your heart beat hard against his lips and the consequential smirk that comes after it.

Weaving your hands back through his hair, you feel his lips edge closer to your pert nipple, and before you can voice any complaints (not that you have any, dear _God_ ), you feel the warmth of his mouth against your nipple, while his hand moves to give attention to your other breast. Your breath catches, a moan replacing the air in your lungs. His tongue swirls while his teeth nip and if you thought the feeling of him pressed against you was blissful, then you decide you’ve reached nirvana. His teeth are giving nips that shoot pain and pleasure across your body, and you, somehow, manage to groan out to him, “Bed.”

Upon your request (command), his mouth leaves your breast, cool air pinching against your skin. His hands cup your backside again, giving a firm squeeze before lowering to the back of your thighs. He rubs his thumb across them, murmuring against the spot where your ear and jaw meet, “Up.” You’re more than happy to comply – you’re quite comfortable climbing him like a tree.  Tightening the hold you have on his hair while he lavishes your neck in kisses – God, you’re going to be the brunt of all jokes from your friends for the next two months after he’s done, hopefully – your jump, wrapping your legs around his hips, feet interlocking. His hands shimmy back to your rear, thumbs digging into the soft flesh of them, before he stumbles, drunk on his lust, to the bed in the middle of the moon-lit room.

When your back reaches the soft, downy comforter that stretches across the bed, it barely registers in your mind – partly due to the mind numbing feeling of Chris’ lips sucking on your pulse point, tongue flicking against the skin, partly due to the fact he lowers you down so softly. Your hands unwind from behind him and press into the mattress to pull yourself up the bed. Lying against the pillows, you look at Chris with eyes clouded with lust, motioning him closer with a _come hither_. His eyes eat you up, savouring every inch of your curves, your pert nipples atop round breasts, your soft stomach that moves with your breath, and long legs parted slightly against the comforter, your arousal darkening your underwear – all evident to him as he soaks it up, crawling up the bed to you.

He wedges a knee between your thighs, pressed against the place you wish he’d put his tongue, cock, _anything_ in. After placing a hand either side of your shoulders, he brings his knee closer, rubbing it against your wetness, and swallows the whimper you give as you press down against it with his lips against yours. You then become aware of his lack of nakedness and your lack of clothing, frowning when you realize. You move to pull his shirt out from under his pants and hear him let a breathy laugh fall from his lips. Ignoring the apparently hilarity in you undressing him, you unbutton the white shirt blocking you from touching, scratching, licking his chest. Pushing the fabric from his shoulders, you’re struck by his beauty. As he tugs the garment the rest of the way off, tossing it and the jacket to the floor carelessly, you drag your nails down his torso, moaning at the sheer beauty of it, through the hair across his chest, and follow it with your index finger before you reach the belt of his pants.

“Off,” you force through gritted teeth, cupping him once more, “ _now_.”

“Anything to hear more of those whines, _god_ ,” his reply comes, leaning back to kneel to get the constricting garment off as quickly as possible. You sit with him, tugging the zip down as he unbuckles the belt gripping his hips.

As soon as you get his pants to his knees, your hands are slipping inside the confines of his underwear, small hand gripping his cock, thick and heavy and in your fingers. Your thumb rubs over the head, gathering pre-cum to slick him. His breath is stilted, moans and grunts filling the air around you, swirling in your head like a chorus of angels.

His hands are soft but sure on your shoulders, pushing you back into lying against the pillows, pulling your hand from his cock with half a heart. He lowers himself to you, and his lips hold yours in a head spinning kiss as his hand pets your stomach affectionately. It registers in some part of your head that his hand is moving lower, fingering at the band of your just beyond where you crave him most. It doesn’t really sink in until you feel his lips leave yours, and your eyes open to see why. He’s sitting on his shins between your knees, a shit-eating grin on his face.

You see him lean forward, hold you by the hips, press circles into them with his thumb while he kisses your stomach, beard hairs tickling your skin. Reflexively, you draw your knees up and plant your feet flat against the bed. _Oh, boy_. Slowly, he mouths his way to the edge of your underwear. When he finally reaches them, you feel his tongue against the edge, and the stripe of cool air that follows it. His thumbs hook into the side seams of your underwear and tug them down, tapping your hip when they get caught – “ _Lift up, you dumby”_ – before he mouths at the skin on the inside of your hip.

After tugging them down far enough that you’re able to kick them off the rest of the way, your legs wrap themselves around his shoulders, hands gripping at his shoulders. He looks up to you through thick lashes, drunk in lust, and you wonder for a moment where his beard ends and the soft curls that hug your most intimate place begin. You stop wondering when he plants a kiss at the top of your curls, hands on your inner thighs, holding them apart, thumbs pressing into the flesh. His lips press a soft kiss to your left thigh before nipping at the skin, sending a shiver up your spine. He looks to your centre, eyes hooded, and you think you hear him mutter, “So _fucking_ beautiful,” – the warmth of his breath against your skin distracts you.

As a hand leaves your thigh, you bring your hands to your sides – you’ve been here before. Chris is unbelievably talented at pulling you apart with his tongue, hands, cock, and you’re never quite prepared for that first burst of touch. The hand that leaves your thighs rests at your hip, holding but not pressing, and you hear yourself draw in a ragged breath.

He pressed a kiss to your clit and you feel your throat choke out a noise of appreciation. He tongues at it, draws circles, shapes unidentifiable in the bliss of his touch, and if you were drenched before in your arousal, well. It’s a shock Chris isn’t drowning – maybe he is, but you’d never know in your state, and he’s the type of man who would happily die between the thighs of a beautiful woman – he’d told you that once; you’d apologised for pressing him too close for too long and he’d laughed and kissed you with the taste of yourself on his tongue. He licks up, tongue flat and pressed firm against you, right the way up your arousal, humming out happily at the taste, and continues on his goal of taking you apart. Your hands press firmly against the bed, hands balling into fists with whatever they can grab at your side. His hand at your hip presses down firmly when you buck towards him, surely leaving bruises – _good_ , something primal in the back of your mind grunts out. When you whimper in response, his hand at your hip leaves a heated imprint and nothing more, and his hand lays atop of yours. Tongue still licking up into you, his hand holds yours, fingers intertwining. You’d make fun of him later (no matter how adored it makes you feel, how loved and cared for), but for now you’re going to whimper against the pillows beneath your head as he picks you to pieces.

When you look down towards him, you see his eyes staring right back at you, as if he’s looking at art and deciphering how to best react. You, slaw jawed and flushed, bring your empty hand to his hair, scratching at his scalp. His moan in response to your nails scraping across his skin sends your back off of the bed, eyes rolling up and into the back of your head. You feel his grin before he nips at your clit and _oh_ wow, that- that’s nice. His scrape of teeth against you makes that pit in you coil tighter, shaking like a kid on Christmas morning. It feels like Christmas every time Chris touches you – like this, of just brushing hands when you walk.

There’s a draft of cool air that caresses your skin when his other hand leaves your thigh. You feel Chris shuffle a little, watch him rearrange himself, feeling his moan at the pleasure of finally getting some relief sending wave after wave of bliss through your body. You’re close; so close. It’s getting unbearable and the tightness inside of you is humming with how close to being over-stimulated you are. And then there’s a probing finger – oh, make that two – pressing into you, sliding straight down to the knuckle. There’s the sound of a long, drawn out moan filling your ears; much to feminine to be Chris’, and unless someone is onlooking on this (you admit you wish you could see yourself strung out and flushed with the Adonis between your thighs, and you wouldn’t hold it against someone had they been), then that must have come from your own mouth.

He’s curling his fingers, searching for the spot he knows so well in you, tongue still flicking against you, and – _oh my god, oh my god,_ fuck, _fuck_ – there it is.  A choked out sob escapes your throat, your head thrown to the side, chest rising and falling rapidly with shallow breaths. The hand in yours squeezes, and you grip tightens.

“Close,” your voice crackles between clenched teeth. _So_ fucking _close._ You hear his hum of acknowledgement, and his fingers quicken their relentless pace against that spot inside of you, crying for release. You press your hips against them, grinding against the welcome intrusion. His fingers snap against that spot, rubbing, pressing heartily against it before coming back to begin the cycle again.  Close, so close, so _fucking_ close-

You feel like you’ve hit a wall. The force of your orgasm spreads like wildfire – hot and uncontrollable, through your body. Your skin is on fire and chilled still at the same time. Your breath drags in choked and tight in your chest, filled with warmth and relief. Chris is carrying you through it, tongue letting up to lap at your wetness spilling and fingers pressing, rubbing that spot that carried you over. Your voice is strained, but you manage an incoherent slew of _yes, yes, fuck, oh my god, ah_ over and over. 

The bliss fades to a level where you can form words once more, and you tug against the hand still pressed to yours. Chris obeys, eyes full of adoration. He lets go of your hand slowly, crawling up your flushed skin to place his forehead against yours. You press your mouth to his, the taste of yourself on his tongue, the feel of it soaked into his beard glistening with it. If that wasn’t enough to send your loins back into a coiled ball of want, then the press of his need at your hip was more than. Outlining the shape of his body, your hands make their way to his hips before you tell him to lie down. He obliges, hands holding you at the waist, bringing him with you. Planting your knees on either side of his thighs, you kiss him deeply, licking the taste of yourself from his mouth.

“Kick ‘em off,” you instruct him, a finger tugging at the waist band of his underwear. He seems more than happy to oblige, hands instinctively holding your hips once again as soon as they’re off. You nose at the hair on his jaw, kissing below it, sucking the skin into your mouth to worry it with your teeth. You’re still riding the aftershocks of your orgasm, but the sight of Chris beneath you, skin flushed, chest dotted with pink behind hair, mouth slightly open, lips swollen, beard glistening with your wetness… you’re more than happy to go again already.

Your hands run themselves over his chest, tracing the contours of his body, fingers dipping in the valleys between muscles. Slowly, your hands make their way to where he’s swollen and throbbing, and you hear his breath hitch when you get close. You have a feather-light touch as you trace down the vein on the underside of his cock, rested against his stomach, from tip that drops beads of pre-cum against his abdomen, muscles taut from want, right to the base where unruly thick hair hugs him. You glance to Chris’s face, drink in the look of primal pleasure and want he gives you, jaw clenched, eyes hooded, brows furrowed. Standing on your knees, you shuffle forward on the bed and wrap one hand around his cock, a gap between your fingers from where they don’t reach around all the way, the other braced flat and spread against one of his pecs. His groan of relief almost makes you forget what you’re going to do, makes you want to touch him with nothing but your hands all day, listen to him grunt your name when he’s close.

You move your hand up and down his length, blessing whatever God has been reminding you lately to take your oral contraceptive. You can’t think of a better feeling than the direct touch of Chris’s cock inside of you. So you get just that – you hold him to your entrance, tip collecting the wetness that lingers and has begun to collect again, drinking in his moans and sharp breaths as you rub yourself across it. Your eyes meet his, hooded and full of lust, before sinking down onto him. Your moans mix with his, his hands gripping tighter, bruising the skin where those from before had already started to blossom.

Seating yourself on Chris’ swollen cock, you relish in the feeling of fullness he gives you. Bracing yourself with both hands pressed against his chest, you roll your hips to test the waters. Feeling his grunt rumble in his chest, you smirk. Flipping your hair away from your eyes, you look at Chris’ face, his baby blue eyes focused where the two of you join, cheeks flushed, lips parted and swollen; he looks so beautiful that it causes your heart to beat a little harder. 

Raising yourself just a little, ignoring the part of you that just wants to stay with him filling you forever, you begin to set a rhythm, slow at first. Your hands stay pressed to his chest to give yourself a balance point, and you feel your breasts bounce with the movement. Startling you, Chris meets your slow thrusts with a deep one, causing your arms to fault with their hold and your arms buckle a little. Chris laughs under his breath, not breaking eye contact with you even as you send a half-hearted glare his way. His thrust meeting yours, rocking yourself against his hip, feeling your clit press against the hair at the base of where you connect, sending sparks of electricity straight to that pit in your stomach that has begun to weave itself tighter once more.

“God, look at you,” Chris murmurs between thrusts. “You’re a goddamn goddess and you don’t even realize.” His fingers press heartily into the skin at your hip before his entire body shifts, your centre of gravity moving with him. Chris’ face is much closer to yours now; he’s sitting with one hand wrapping around your waist, holding you closer, and the other coming behind you to hold the mound of flesh on your backside.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes against the corner of your jaw. “Always make me feel so good, baby,” he continues to lavish you in praise, hand on your rear kneading at the flesh, “you look so good like this – look so good with me inside of you, look so good with my arms around you, with my mouth between your thighs.” He kisses across and down your neck, tongue darting out to soothe the worried skin. “I just want to show the rest of the world how beautiful you look right now; all fucked out and still going, me wrapped around you, the way your body quivers when I touch just _there_ ,” it’s thoroughly unfair and uncalled for that he hit your g-spot right on with that thrust. “You’re stunning like this. The only time you’re more beautiful is when you’re coming.” Oh man, oh man this is getting to you. You whimper against his lips, bringing your hands to his back, one against his scalp and one against his shoulder blade. The coiling in your stomach is getting close to breaking and you want to meet it at that point.

Lifting your hips up slightly more, you push down onto him with extra force, grinding in circles against him, knowing he also is getting close; the praise starts when he is. He moans, pulling our bottom lip between his teeth before tugging on it, drawing a reciprocating moan from you. Smiling at the noises you’re milking from him, you continue on your pattern of grinding down against him, and raising and lowering yourself on his cock, clenching at each fall back to the feeling of fullness he gives you. His grunting and moans become more rapid, hands gripping your hips impossibly hard, mouth pressed against yours in less of a kiss and more of a car crash.

“’M close,” he warns, more of a breathed statement than worded one. Nodding shakily, you keep to your grinding in his lap, your own closeness hazing your vision and impairing your movements. His mouth knocks against yours, half kisses forming before being interrupted by moans, grunts, whimpers that fill the air around them. You feel his body still, and watch as his jaw clenches tight, brows furrowed, eyes closed tight. Your smile turns to one of accomplishment as you watch the goosebumps rise across his skin, watch the waves of pleasure take him over, feel him fill you. Riding him through his orgasm, you bring your hands to his shoulders, bracing yourself.  You’re close again; just another hit against that spot inside of you and you’ll be done for – _oh_. There it is.

“Fuck, fuck, oh my god, Chris, baby,” the slew of curse words and moans of his name fill the space between you as electricity fires from every cell in your body, the fire peaking in your gut, warming you from the inside out, your heart beating heavy and hard in your chest. Mouth agape and eyes closed tight, you feel his lips place a gentle kiss against your jaw. When your eyes open, slow and heavy, you kiss him again; soft this time, full of love, not lust. His demeanour completely changes; he is no longer the man who would do anything to please you, but instead craves for attention. You love this just as much as the former.

You move to lay beside him, go to lift a leg to shuffle over, and before you are able to slip him from inside of you, you feel his fingers wrap around your wrists. “Stay,” he mumbles, holding your hand to his lips, “just another minute,” kissing each of your fingers before releasing his grip, movements groggy. Really, who are you to say no? Watching him lower himself back against the pillows, your heart flutters at the sight of him – hair strewn in every direction, a sheen of sweat across his forehead and chest, eyes heavy and cheeks flushed pink. His lips are bruised, reds mixing with tinges of purple, swollen and pouted. He looks fucked out and you’re never prouder than in moments like this; when you take apart a treasure of the world all by yourself.

Careful not to dislodge yourself from him (and relishing in the feeling of his seed filling you where his cock does not), you lay your torso to his, head resting against his chest. You can feel his heart beating against his ribcage, and the sound is lulling you. You draw patterns on his chest with the fingers of your hand. There’s an odd, but welcome, sense of connectedness that comes with this moment – basking in the afterglow together with him still filling you. You hum in contentment as you feel his hand come to your hair, combing it with his fingers mindlessly. Your eyes close softly as you absorb the feeling of his hand in your hair to mingle with the sensation of his cock still inside of you. After several moments of lying there, you’re slightly jostled as Chris rearranges himself, slipping from your body, but fingers staying against your scalp. He huffs in laughter in reaction to your whimper at the loss. He lays a kiss to your hair, intertwining his free hand with the one you’d placed against his chest. The quiet after-math of sex never felt contenting until Chris was around for it.

 

**Author's Note:**

> i fully blame the fucking beard for this. and that goddamn blue shirt in aou at the party. and also [tanya](https://buckyspanties.tumblr.com) for feeding my thirst.  
> hit me up on [tumblr](https://bbvckybarnes.tumblr.com) because im always talking about fucking chris evans in one way or another


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